


let me back down in a place i know

by NumberFive (onceandfuturewarlock)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, also this is obviously an AU where Vanya calmed down before she caused the apocalypse, and that is exactly what happens, so really I'm the winner here, yes this is a heap of absolute garbage but I wanted one (1) Five Hargreeves to be loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceandfuturewarlock/pseuds/NumberFive
Summary: "You shouldn't have jumped," Luther says. "You didn't have it in you, did you?"Five scoffs. The room spins. His hands shake. "Obviously, I did, or I wouldn't have gotten us all the way back here."
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves
Comments: 17
Kudos: 250





	let me back down in a place i know

**Author's Note:**

> "Let me down easy, let me down slow,  
> If all good things ever come and go,  
> Let me back down in a place I know,  
> Hold the nail for the hammer stroke."
> 
> \- "Spirit Cold", Tall Heights

"We need to get out of here," Luther says, like this is a brand-new and wildly revolutionary idea lavished on him from heaven itself, and he quickly crouches back down behind the upturned table, barely wide enough to cover his ridiculously broad shoulders, to toss an uneasy look at Five. " _Now_. We need to get back to the Academy."

 _Inspired idea, Number One,_ but Five bites his tongue, mostly because whole head throbs like he's got a knife in his skull, and the strong, steady rain of bullets on the other side of the table isn't doing him any favors.

But he can _still_ make the jump back to the Academy, he can still make the jump, he can still make one more jump, even with all the other jumps he's already pulled off in the fight, even with Luther's enormous bulk to slow him down, to hold him back (and even if the world spins and spins and spins around him in a bright and blurry circle, even if he's so dizzy he can't stand up), he can still make the jump back to the Academy. He can still make it. He can still make one more jump.

So he drags himself up a little higher and holds out his hand.

But Luther doesn't seem to think so. "Uh," he looks warily down at Five's open, sweaty palm, "you know, you _really_ don't look so good."

"Yeah, well, dodging bullets all day will do that to you," Five says, and he swipes at the thin, cold trail of sticky sweat down the side of his face with the back of his other hand. "Come _on_ , or I'm leaving you behind. How do you like your chances with these lunatics?"

(It's the emptiest threat he's ever made in his entire life. He'll walk straight back into the apocalypse with a smile on his face before he'll leave his family behind. But Luther doesn't know that.)

Luther scowls. But he ( _finally_ ) reaches out, and he grabs Five's outstretched hand up in his own.

Five shuts his eyes. He clenches his teeth until his jaw aches.

He _pulls_.

He snatches the whole world up in his hands and he rips a hole into it, until he feels the gap, so big he can step right through, so big it could swallow him up if he only let go, and let it, but it's not big enough. It's not big enough for Luther. It's not big enough for Luther to step through. It's not big enough to swallow Luther.

The world slips right back out of his hands.

No.

_No._

Five almost screams with the absolute and utter _fury_ of it, he can feel it, he can still feel the hole, the gap, but he can't do it, he can't stretch it out big enough for Luther, and it has to be big enough for Luther, it has to be bigger, it has to be bigger, it's not big enough, it's just not big enough, and he is so so so so _tired_ —

It has to be bigger. It has to be bigger.

The hole has to be bigger.

 _Five has to be better_.

He wrenches the world back into his hands again (back under _his_ control) and he _pulls_.

(It's like his body has torn itself in half. It's like his body has torn itself all in pieces, like his chest has caved in on him, like all his bones have collapsed a hundred thousand times and they'll have to collapse a hundred thousand times more before he can finally finally finally _stop_ , but he can't stop, he can't stop, he has to be better, he has to be better, for Luther—)

He pulls out of the room.

He pulls back into the Academy.

With Luther.

( _Thank fucking God.)_

Five stops to blink away the last of the bright, blinding blue behind his eyes before he pushes himself up on his feet.

And he has to _immediately_ latch onto the back of the ugly, overstuffed sofa just to make sure he won't crash down to the dirty carpet. Now that the worst of the danger is behind him, and the sharp, heady high of adrenaline has worn off, the exhaustion slams into him harder than a fist to the face, and his heavy eyes almost slip all the way shut.

He'll be out like a damn light the second he sits down.

So he just can't sit down.

Because he has to get back out there. He has to get back out there. He can't stick around here. He has to track the bastards down. If he surrenders to the pull of sleep, Luther will do it alone. Luther will get himself hurt. Luther will get himself killed. Luther will—

"Five?"

_Shit._

He snaps his head up. " _What_?"

But it obviously wasn't mean enough, because Luther doesn't even glare at him. "You shouldn't have done that. You didn't have it in you, did you?"

 _Oh._ Five almost scoffs out loud, but he's not actually looking to start a fight with Luther. That's Diego's thing. Not his. He just wants to get back out there and track the bastards down as quick as he can. "Obviously, I _did_ , or I wouldn't have gotten us all the way back _here_." He pushes himself up off the back of the sofa. The room spins. "Come on. We don't have time to hang around. We can't give them the chance to slip away."

Luther sighs. "You—" he rubs a hand down the side of his face, and he looks so tired, Five almost feels a little sorry for him (the battle must have been harder on Luther than he'll let on) "—you can't come with me."

Five stops dead, because he's _sure_ he didn't hear that right. Because he's sure Luther very much values his internal organs. "I _can't_?" He narrows his eyes. He takes a step toward Luther. "Let me make myself clear, Number One, you have no say in the things I _can't_ —"

Luther waves a hand like he thinks that's really going to shut Five up. "Can you even walk to _the_ _other end of the room_?"

Fine, maybe the big guy doesn't value his internal organs that much. "Last I checked, I still had both legs."

"No, I'm serious, Five, this isn't up for discussion—"

"Oh. Good. Looks like we agree on something."

"—listen to me, you can't—"

"— _I'm fucking fine_ —!"

Five goes down.

The last word isn't even all the way off his lips when his shaking legs finally give out on him, and he hits the ground and his whole (skinny, little) body sags in on itself, and his whole (skinny, little) body goes completely and thoroughly limp (with the overuse).

It's a damn miracle he can even lift his head up off the rug to scowl at Luther.

And Luther _obviously_ doesn't value his internal organs at all, because he leans down and he scoops Five up off the rug, in his massive arms, and _holds him like that._

Five likes the big guy a hell of a lot better when he's up on the moon.

" _Put. Me. Down_."

"So you can fall over again?" Luther lifts his blond brows ( _bastard_ ) but he turns around and he heads out of the room and he steps slowly up the wide wooden stairwell. At least he's not going to do that thing he does with Diego, that thing where he just picks him up and holds him five feet off the ground.

"So I can _kick your ass,"_ Five tries to dig his sharp, bony elbow, hard, into Luther's broad chest, but it's like a goddamn brick wall, and he doesn't even think Luther can actually feel it, and he's shaking so bad, he thinks he'll fall if he tries again. "Put me down."

Luther doesn't even _look_ at him. "You can't _stand up_ , Five. If I put you down, you'll collapse again. You're already lucky you didn't break something with that last fall."

" _You're_ lucky I haven't put a bullet in you yet," Five says, but the words come out slurred and too slow, and the threat falls really, really flat, even to him. (He shuts his eyes for half a second, because the world won't stop whirling all around him, and it makes him feel sick and dizzy again.)

Luther gets to the top of the stairwell, and his steps feel a little more even now.

"Put me down," Five says, again, but it comes out even slower now. He should open up his eyes. So he can glare at Luther. "Y-You need—" it's a long minute before he can actually remember the thing Luther needs, "—backup. You need backup. If you're going to go after those guys."

"Allison got back in last night," Luther says. His voice is a deep, rolling rumble in his chest, like distant thunder, and the sound makes the tight tension in Five's muscles ease up. "I'll take her with me."

But Five still doesn't like it. "Allison's not as good as me."

Luther huffs. It sounds almost like a laugh. "Maybe you should tell that to her round kick."

Five can't come up with a counter to that. He's sure he could if he opened his eyes. (He really, really needs to open his eyes, because if he stays like this, he's not going to be awake much longer, and that would be bad. Because Luther needs backup. Except he said Allison would be his backup.)

(So is it okay if Five sleeps?)

(Just for a little while?)

A long, low creak whines loud in Five's ears. Luther's opened up a door.

Five finally pries his eyes open. The room is blurry all around him, and the world moves far too fast, but he can see long strings of white numbers scratched and scribbled all over the dark green walls, like the biggest chalkboard on earth, and thick books stacked up high on the table beside the bed.

 _Oh._ His bedroom.

But Luther needs backup.

But he said Allison would be his backup.

(Allison is good. She's not as good as Five, but no one is good as Five.)

Luther's big arms put him down in his own, soft bed, his head half-off the thick pillow, and he knows he shouldn't, but he sinks down into it, he rolls over on his side and he tucks his legs up and he sinks down into all the warm and all the soft all around him. A little sigh slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Just before the sleep finally pulls him under, he feels a heavy blanket fall over him, and big hands tuck it gently around his shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> in this house, "take care of five hargreeves" hours are twenty-four fucking seven.


End file.
